Dying to Belong
by Severitus
Summary: After Dracula's defeat, Van Helsing and Carl must defend Transylvania. When mysterious deaths start deep in the countryside, they find themselves facing an evil more heinous than ever before. Not to mention a pesky ghost that's decided to tag along,
1. Chapter 1

**A/N::** I, a mere peon in the feudal kingdom of Hollywood, lay no claim to Steven Sommer's masterful creations. I loved nearly everything about the movie, save for the fact that a little red vial wasn't shattered as I so dearly hoped….

Spoilers:: Haven't seen it, don't read this. This starts shortly after the movie.

Rating: PG-13

Summary: After Dracula's defeat, Van Helsing and Carl are charged with the defense of Transylvania. When mysterious deaths start deep in the countryside, they find themselves facing an evil more heinous than ever before. Not to mention a pesky ghost of an old 'friend' that's decided to tag along, hinting that Van Helsing might not be as free of the moon's pull as he thought….

Dying to Belong

By _Severitus_

It had been nearly a month since the death of Dracula. Frankenstein castle once again stood empty and abandoned, the high turrets scorched by lightning and fire, the great windows gleaming in broken shards. And now, almost a year to the day after that evil building had been emptied, Fortress Valerious, its counterpart in so many ways, now stood just as empty and silent. The people of the village had left it empty for the moment, mourning its emptiness just as they mourned the last of the Valerious Clan. Soon the Fortress would be claimed by the Teski clan, distant cousins that roamed the northern countries. But until then, not a priceless rug was stolen, a piece of silverware slipped up a sleeve, or a twelfth century gilded broadsword graced with so much as a shadow of a human being. And Gabriel Van Helsing wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

On order from Rome, both he and Carl were to stay in Transylvania until the monster population had been as close to eradicated as possible. With the extinction of the nation's previous defenders, it was now helpless, and Rome wasn't about to let the region fall into darkness. Carl was less than happy about the order, but Van Helsing couldn't bring himself to really care one way or another. No matter what his past sins had been, it seemed that he was destined to the life of a murderer. He'd slain Dracula not once but twice, killed Velkan and Anna Valerious, and so many more monsters and people throughout the decades that he couldn't even begin to remember them all. But this last…it had hurt the most. He'd never allowed himself to care for anyone as he had for Anna. He had never stayed in one place long enough, and his life was always too dangerous to even consider accepting another person into it. But Anna…she had seemed so strong. Subconsciously, at least, he had thought he had finally found someone that could survive in his world. She, a woman who's entire life had been spent fighting evil, struggling to find a way to make the one kill that would save generations of her family. And now this death lingered with him like none before, because he had cared for her, and he had killed her. Late at night he could still see her face just after she'd died, in those moments when his body had been monstrous but his mind had returned. She'd looked…happy, almost…as if she'd finally found something she'd spent forever searching for. And she had, in a way.

Dusting the misty rain from the brim of his hat, Van Helsing rose from the battlement he'd been resting upon high in Frankenstein Castle. He'd spent the past few weeks traveling back and forth between both it and Fortress Valerious, too disturbed by memories to stay at one or the other consistently. To Carl he'd used the excuse that he was simply keeping on the look out for more monsters, which wasn't entirely untrue. He had slain quite a few in the past few weeks. They had been mostly Changelings and the Walking Dead, with a stray Forest Sprite or two with a penchant for nastiness. With Dracula's death most of the greater evils in his service had disappeared from the area, gone in search of new masters to serve. And vampires, though still in existence, had been reduced to nearly one third of their original number according to Rome. Werewolves roamed the woods as they had for thousands of years, but without Dracula's influence they stayed to the deep woods and kept to their own business. These of course were the Natural werewolves, those who, according to Carl, were no different from regular wolves save that their bite spread the curse of Lycanthropy to humans. Good reason to avoid them, but not to kill them.

Boots scraping on chips of stone littering the stairs beneath his feet, Van Helsing descended into the darkness of the castle. The moon was rising outside, not quite three quarters full but bright enough to cast strong shadows through the ancient trees. The grappling gun clanged dully against a silver stake in one coat pocket, echoing loudly in the empty castle. Faintly there was the sound of the wind whistling through a high tower, and the distant sound of old laboratory equipment groaning under its own weight, but that was all. Many people would have been terrified to walk alone through the old castle, with only a scant few torches to cast aside the malignant darkness. Van Helsing had seen worse, and found it comforting in a way. And these days he didn't need much to see by. While his senses weren't as strong as they had been during his brief stint as a shapeshifter, they were still abnormally powerful. The moon had left its mark on him in more ways than one.

            The wind picked up, rattling shutters in some distant part of the castle. Something about it sounded strange though, and Van Helsing paused, ears straining. It came again, and he could have sworn that it sounded like a voice…a voice diffused from far away. Shaking his head, he passed it off as nerves and too much time spent lingering in the past. Nevertheless, he slid one Tojo blade into his hand and popped out the blades, unwilling to take any chances.

            Nothing appeared out of the gloom on the way to the Spartan bedroom Van Helsing had claimed as his own. The wind had even died down again, and there was no sign of the passing of anything aside from time. Sighing heavily, Van Helsing sheathed the Tojo blade and slumped onto a lumpy old mattress, tossing his hat onto one bedpost. Maybe all he needed was sleep.

--

            The first report came two days later. Two people dead, in a village five miles east of Fortress Valerious. Apparently the villagers had decided to trust him somewhat, as they had willingly brought him news of the attack. They wouldn't, however, give him any details on it…they said something about it being too horrible to speak of. Van Helsing didn't like the sound of that, especially since it meant he'd have to go and see it firsthand. And so, the day found he and Carl riding a winding forest trail towards a tiny excuse for a town. Carl was doing a poor job of reading while riding his horse, pausing every now and then to lead the animal back onto the path again.

            The inn where they finally pulled to a stop was smaller than most homes, or at least it looked that way from the outside. The roof was thatched and badly in need of repair, with sagging beams and rotted hay that looked as if it wouldn't even discourage a leak. The rusted sign hung out front proclaimed its name to be the 'Stag's Head Inn,' and was quickly explained by the large deer skull mounted above the door in grim welcome. Evening was fast approaching as they tied their reigns out front of the inn, the horses thankfully dunking their heads to the waiting water troughs.

            The inside of the establishment looked as if it hadn't been inhabited in years. Thick layers of dust covered everything from the floor to the stubby candles than sat in sconces on the wall. In a far corner of the room, an old man with a hunched spine and very few strands of dirty white hair clinging to his head stood staring at a painting on the wall. It looked to be of a young woman with long, dark hair, and was the only thing in the room absent of dust.

            "Er…excuse me…." Carl began, but stopped when the old man turned and gave him a glare that would have outdone Dracula himself.

            "Tourists no doubt…nobody respects the old country any more…" he grumbled just loud enough for them to hear. "Well what do you want? A room? Directions to some broken down castle so you can go searching for myths and legends?" The old man said, his watery blue eyes narrowed beneath eyebrows that had more hair than his head.

            "A bit of both if you please, sir. We'll be here two nights, and we'd like to know the way to Kensington House," Van Helsing bit out in reply, and Carl gulped, staring from one to the other as if trying to decide which was the greater danger.

            "Fine. Head west down the main roar, first left you see. Can't miss it. And pay me when you get back, I don't take money from dead men." With that said, the old man turned back to the painting.

            "Well, I guess we'll be on our way then," Carl muttered darkly, and they turned right back the way they'd come.

            Kensington House was right where the Innkeeper had told them it was. For only the second structure in the small village they'd seen so far, it was in stark contrast to the inn. It was a huge, two story structure that all at once blended perfectly with the surroundings, while being in entirely the wrong country. It's design held none of the region's typical architecture. It was startlingly British in design, right down to the few drying Tulips lining the walk. From the road, it looked like the perfect little country home, where nothing could ever possibly be wrong for its near happily ever after appearance. But, as they rode closer, Van Helsing caught the faint scent of something on the air that put him on instant alert. Old blood, the same smell that lingered in the corners of Dracula's Castle, and even Fortress Valerious. When they were within ten feet of the house, they saw the first of it. In a trail from the door down the white-washed steps were huge, bloody footprints. There were spots of dried brown speckled all across the porch, and a thick trail smeared behind the footprints, as if something heavy had been dragged.

            Carl looked reluctant to get ay closer to the house, but Van Helsing showed no hesitation in hopping off his black mare and tying her to a porch post. The horses snorted softly and pawed at the ground, nostrils flaring nervously.

            "Van Helsing…what are you doing?" Carl asked, finally joining Van Helsing on the porch. The latter was kneeling near the footprints, eyes narrowed and lips pursed.

            "What have you got that's consecrated?" Van Helsing asked suddenly, and Carl stuttered for a moment before scurrying back to rummage through one of the saddle bags.

            "A few crosses, holy water, two short daggers and…er…one pair of brass knuckles." Van Helsing raised an eyebrow at the last, and Carl laughed nervously.

            "It was just a whim, really…could be useful…and what monster would expect it?"

            "Right. Bring them, and one of the crucifixes." Van Helsing rose and trode unconcerned over the footprints, and swung open the front door as if he'd been expecting it to be unlocked.

            "Why? What are we after?" Carl asked nervously, clutching the silver crucifix to his chest with shaking hands.

            "Gargoyle," Van Helsing muttered absently in response, his eyes adjusting to the darker interior. It smelled much worse inside. The air was thick with the coppery scent of blood and death, and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. His mouth watered, something deep inside hungering, and he swallowed thickly past it.

            "Gargoyle?! But they never leave the cities! They're tied to the place of their creation-"

            "I know that Carl. But nevertheless I know a Gargoyle's work when I see it. Messiest bastards I've ever come across when killing," he said, and Carl closed his mouth with a snap, his eyes growing wide.

            "Messiest? Van Helsing, what do you mean by messiest? What if it's still here?" Carl struggled to catch up to Van Helsing, who'd already taken off down one dimly lit hallway.

           "It's not, and it won't be back." Van Helsing paused before a door, the wooden floor stained deep red with blood. He pushed open the door, and stopped. At one point it had been a study, decorated with careful skill and obvious reverence. War memorabilia was strewn everywhere, from medals mounted in frames to certificates and even a uniform of the British Royal Army carefully pressed and displayed on one wall. A shiny, standard issue rifle, carefully oiled, lay on the floor, and a quick flare of his nostrils told Van Helsing that it had been fired. But now all the careful decoration was ruined. Blood soaked the floor wall to wall, was spattered on the walls and ceiling, pooled in the seat of the wing-backed chair set before a desk. Great slash marks shredded through half the uniform, had flung framed medals to the floor and gouged chunks of white plaster to the ground like pure snow in the scene of carnage.

            Carl let out a startled yelp and fled out of the room, and Van Helsing could hear him wretching out in the front yard. Turning with one long, sorrowful look, he turned to the next room. It looked to have once been a sewing room, though the set of paints and canvas propped in the corner looked to have seen more use than the old sewing machine set in a corner, covered with a knitted shawl. A single white glove lay on the floor in the center of the room, the cuff just barely stained with splotches of dark brown. Sighing heavily, Van Helsing turned and headed for the front door. He didn't need to see any more, it all spoke of the same thing. A husband and wife, killed by a gargoyle. On his way to the front door, he paused at table pushed up against one wall. It was filled with picture frames of all shapes and sizes, mostly showing the same three people. A man with graying hair in a British militairy uniform, a woman in a light blue gown and bouncing brown curls, and a young girl, just an adult in the last of the pictures. She looked a lot like her mother, but her eyes were never smiling, and in every photo a large, silver cross was plainly visible at her neck.

            "Carl, there was a daughter," Van Helsing stated as he exited the house, coat flaring as he mounted his horse in one fluid motion. Carl was already mounted and ready to go, and turned suddenly.

            "What? I thought there were only two deaths reported."

            "There were. I checked the house, it was only the husband and wife that were killed. We need to find out where the girl is," Van Helsing said, and flicked his reigns. Both horses took off down the road, straining against the reigns to get away from the house as quickly as possible.

            The sun was setting when they made it back to the inn, the long shadows of the pines spread across the ground like the stripes of a jungle cat. There were lights beginning to shine from deep in the woods…candlelight from the houses hidden so deep in foliage that only by night could they be found easily.

            The Innkeeper was standing on the porch when they returned, holding an old brass lamp out in front of him like a night watchman on the harbor. His grizzled face stood in stark relief in the lamplight, eyes just two dark shadows in his skull.

            "So, you're still alive. Find what you were looking for, did you?" he asked, holding the door open as they lugged in their bags.

            "What happened to their daughter?" Van Helsing asked without preamble, following the man down one short hallway, puffs of dust rising from the rotting carpet.

            "Oh, a quick one are you? Well she up and disappeared the night of the attack. We all assumed she was taken by the thing that killed her, or she just up and ran off after the attack. Wouldn't blame her if she had." The old man stopped in front of a door at the end of the hall, and kicked it twice. On the second strike, it creaked open, and he thrust the lamp at Van Helsing. "Leave your money on the desk. I wouldn't advise going outside, but there's a pub five minute's walk down the trail out back if you're hungry." The old man turned and crept back into the dark, white hair gleaming in the lamp glow until he disappeared into some unknown portion of the Inn. Carl turned to Van Helsing with widened eyes, and nodded his head toward the exit.

            "Are you thinking what I am, Van Helsing?" he asked.

            "If you're thinking that we got a warmer welcome at Castle Dracula, then yes." Van Helsing gave a grim smile, and tossed a bag into the open doorway. "But on the bright side no one's tried to kill us yet." Carl grimaced, and pulled the silver cross out of his bag and clutched it to his chest.

            "And if they do, I'm blaming you Van Helsing. You know you're never supposed to say things like that!" Van Helsing only laughed, and shoved the friar towards one of the empty cots in the room.

-----End Chapter 1---


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **Van Helsing and Co. are property of Steven Sommers. Unfortunately, all my requests to borrow Dracula and Gabriel have been denied…but I won't give up! Pardon me while I send more letters...hehe

A/N: Don't expect the chapters of this to be very long, or even consistent in length. I just felt like writing, and what comes, comes. Just thought I'd warn you.

And THANK YOU THANK YOU for all you're wonderful reviews! I'm so very glad you've enjoyed this so far. Unfortunately I haven't answered any questions in this chapter, but for those who've wondered, I expect the 'ghost' to show up next chapter, mwahahaha…but I will hint that it's a 'he'….

Chapter 2

Power. He could feel it like blood in his veins, crackling like electricity through tensed muscles, in the heat of the stone beneath his paws. The wind was strong, clanging the catwalks high in the tower and rustling the thick fur around his neck. Flexing claws as long and deadly as the fangs curving passed his snarling lips, he growled, and the sound shook the earth. Dracula only smiled, brushing an errant lock of hair from his eyes before reaching up with one hand, and lightly brushing the side of his muzzle as one would a favored pet.

"Oh Gabriel…Gabriel…when will you learn? Things are never as they seem, you should know this better than most, you, who were the Left Hand of God…." Dracula drew back his hand and turned his head to the clock tower beyond a broken window. The enormous hands read 12:01. When Dracula spoke again, his voice had changed. It was Carl's voice, matched to every inflection. "The serum must be given before the twelfth stroke of midnight." Dracula smirked, and Van Helsing lifted one great, clawed hand to grab him about the throat, but it passed through as if the vampire were no more than smoke.

"You need to look deeper into things, Gabriel. All the world's answers cannot be found through death and duty. But oh, the irony of seeing you like this…the very thing you have fought so ruthlessly against, and the only one of your kind I cannot control…." Dracula laughed, and suddenly disappeared. Van Helsing whirled, ears laid back against his skull and lips drawn back in a snarl. Laughing from somewhere up above drew his attention, and looking up, he found the vampire lounging casually in a high window, the full moon behind him leaving him a dark silhouette. "It was past midnight Gabriel, past the wolf's hour, the twelfth chime too long an echo…." Then he began to fade, like mist in the rising sun. The edges blurred, and the moonlight grew brighter, and Van Helsing lifted his head and howled a sound that rattled the stones and mortar, shook the bats from their bell tower perches and drove the birds from the trees for miles around.

And then, there was light and sound, and Van Helsing found himself blinking, eyes opening on an entirely different scene. He was back at the inn, the light from a three-quarter moon shining through the window, Carl's snores breaking the silence. Almost frantically, Van Helsing raised his hands to his face, and collapsed back in relief upon discovering they were still very much human, and it had all been a dream. Reaching beneath the pillow, Van Helsing took firm grasp of the leather-handled dagger hidden beneath and pulled it into his hand. Something had woken him from the strange dream, and he wasn't about to let down his guard until he was positive it was something harmless. And, it was a welcome distraction from the nightmare.

The sound that must have woken him repeated itself a moment later. It was a high-pitched, hoarse cry. It was the sound metal made when it tore in the heat, or scraped heavily across stones. It was a sound Van Helsing would have recognized anywhere.

"Carl," he hissed, and tossed his pillow at the sleeping friar. Carl snapped into a sitting position and promptly fell off his cot, arms and legs flailing as if he were drowning.

"What? It's not even light out," Carl grumbled, but quickly began rummaging through the bag beside his bed.

"The gargoyle is out and about." Van Helsing was busy tying his bootlaces, his Tojo blades already latched onto his wrist braces and shotgun sheathed at his back.

"You're going after it?" Carl asked, holding the brass knuckles in one hand and the large silver cross in the other.

"Of course. That _is_ what I'm here for," Van Helsing replied with a smirk. Carl rolled his eyes.

"Right. But _now_? We just got here!"

"You're staying here. Stay inside the room, and keep the cross on you. If it doubles back this way it won't attack you with something consecrated on you." Van Helsing was up and heading toward the door.

"But…but…are you sure?" Carl asked, but sounded more grateful than anything.

"Yes, I'm sure. I've handled gargoyle's before, you know." Van Helsing turned back slightly, and Carl gave him a grateful smile. "Trust me," he said, and closed the door.

Outside, it was black. The moon had already set, and the sun was still too far below the horizon to even dim the stars with a faint glow. A few insects buzzed lazily from the undergrowth, and an unknown night bird called out suddenly in the dark. There was a slight breeze, and Van Helsing's nostrils flared, searching. The Gargoyle screeched again, and the insects fell silent.

Crouching low to the ground, Van Helsing hurried toward the sound, pistols gripped tightly and aimed skyward. His feet made no sound on the soft vegetation beneath his feet, and he struggled to quiet his breathing. The wind had stilled, and suddenly the only thing he could hear was the slow beating of his own heart, and the steady rush of blood through his veins.

The loud rustling of wings was his only warning. Dropping to his knees, Van Helsing brought both pistols up to bear and shot directly into the chest of a thing that looked remarkably as if it had been carved from stone. Its skin was thick and grayish, tight over a squat, winged body topped with a badger-like head with wide nostrils and overlapping fangs. The eyes were a pinkish red, gleaming like polished metal. The bullets only slowed it slightly, and Van Helsing quickly rolled out of its path, unsheathing one Tojo blade at the same time. The creature dove again barely a second after he'd regained his feet, and he whipped his arm out in a wide arc, the saw-like blade catching the edge of the creature's wing as it veered out of the way. The howl of pain it bellowed forth was so unearthly that even the trees shook on their roots, a few panes of glass in nearby homes shattering into thick shards. In the third dive it wasted no time at all, but rather fell from the sky like a bullet. Van Helsing didn't have time to bring the blade up again, and the creature plowed him into the ground so hard that he knew something should have broken, and stars danced in his vision. On instinct, his hands flew up and latched onto the beast's arms, struggling desperately to shove it back despite its greater strength and mass. Its face dropped close, gaping maw spewing hot breath into his face, stinking saliva dangling precariously from yellowed fangs. Van Helsing was only aware of a brief flash of pain shooting through his chest, before strength suddenly flooded into his limbs. Slowly, he pushed the creature back, fingers digging so fiercely into its arms that it twitched in pain. And then, with one great heaving shove, he threw it from him so violently that it went sailing thirty feet off into the trees.

Shakily, Van Helsing rose to his feet, eyes wide and focused on where the creature had disappeared. Then, briefly, the pain returned again, like his guts were twisting in his abdomen and his muscles burning with sudden heat. The scars on his chest almost felt as if they were throbbing, burning through his skin to his very heart, and he didn't like the implications of that at all.

Somewhere off in the trees, the creature howled, and he stared tiredly as it suddenly burst above the treetops and sailed off toward the deeper woods. Collapsing to the ground, Van Helsing yanked down the neck of his shirt and stared down at the scars on his upper chest, an oval of jagged pale splotches where the werewolf's teeth had once sunk into his flesh. They had been nothing but faint white scars, but now they were reddish and slightly inflamed, as if irritated. Swallowing thickly, Van Helsing looked away and sheathed the Tojo blade. His breathing slowly returned to normal, warm exhalations fading into the night.

---

"Van Helsing, don't you think we should go someplace more…welcoming to do this?" Carl asked shakily, eyes darting around the small, smoky pub. There were a very few people scattered around the many small tables, but nearly all were glaring at Van Helsing and Carl hidden in one corner. Carl had spread maps of the region over the tops of two round tables they'd pushed together, and a few ancient books with sketches and vague references to gargoyles were flipped open on the edges of the maps. A few odd, silver instruments were scattered about atop the maps.

Van Helsing only lifted his head briefly to meet the gazes of the locals, before looking back to the map spread before him. "This is fine. And besides, this is the only place where there's room for all this at once," he said, sweeping one hand to gesture at their mess.

"Right…" Carl replied warily, forcing his eyes to return to a tome on 'Daemonic Manifestations 1298-1498.' Van Helsing was staring intently at the center of the map. The Kensington House had been marked by the stub of a burnt out candle, and two new murders, five miles to the north of the village, had been marked by a old bullet casing. The murders had occurred late in the night, after Van Helsing's encounter with the Gargoyle. It was similar to the first, in that it was a man and a woman slain. Thankfully there were no more missing persons, but the mood of the tiny village was no less grim. Both had taken place on the outskirts of the village, and were sickeningly violent. Reaching out for one of the silver instruments, Van Helsing suddenly drew his hand back with a low hiss of pain. Glancing down at his fingertips, he saw what looked like pinkish, fresh burns.

"Van Helsing, are you alright?" Carl asked, glancing from the instrument to Van Helsing's hand.

"Fine. It's nothing," Van Helsing mumbled, fisting his hand. Carl picked up the instrument and turned it over in his hand, his eyes questioning, but he didn't press the issue. "Gather your stuff, Carl, we're going," Van Helsing said suddenly, thumping shut two of the nearest books.

"What? Where?" Van Helsing's only reply was to thrust his finger toward the map, fingernail pressed to a tiny sketch of what appeared to be some sort of castle ruins.

"Why are we going there?" Carl asked, hurriedly shoving maps and gadgets into a bulging satchel.

"Call it a gut feeling," Van Helsing replied, and cast Carl a smile that made him groan. "And, it's the only place within ten miles that could logically birth a gargoyle."

"I'm not going to like this…" Carl said to himself, and followed the hunter out into the pub. They were nearly to the door before one of the villagers finally made their move.

"Murderer." It was an old woman, hunch-backed with a thin, polished wooden cane in one hand. Her hair still held some of its former blonde color, but her face was a mass of wrinkles and dust, the pink of her eye tissue visible above the sagging lids.

"Pardon me, Ma'am," Van Helsing said, trying to step around her to the doorway. She replied by whacking him firmly in the shin with her cane. "Ow!" Van Helsing yelped, and glared while stepping back out of caning range.

"Murderer and rude, then," she growled, and narrowed her milky eyes.

"Please, Ma'am, we only wish to pass-" Carl began, and she harrumphed and waved her cane threateningly beneath his nose.

"Oh, I'll let you pass, but I'll have my say first. If it were up to me, you, Van Helsing, would be tied to a stake and burned like the heretics of the old days. You'll bring more death upon us, _monster_," she said. Van Helsing paled, but didn't reply immediately.

"Then I shall be glad it is _not_ up to you," he said, and his eyes were suddenly sad, as if remembering something he'd rather not.

"I'm sure you are. Who will they send to kill _you_, monster? Once the gargoyle's dead? _I_ know you're not human…I can see it in your eyes. The _beast,_ clawing it's way through your human skin even now. You'd best not stay here long, Van Helsing…there are plenty others who share my thoughts and know just how to take care of your kind…" she said, her wrinkled lips curving into a nasty smile. Van Helsing narrowed his eyes, and suppressed a growl he felt rising deep in his throat. No use proving her right, after all, he thought.

"I have a job to do Ma'am, and that is to kill the gargoyle. I always kill what I come for, and neither you nor anyone else will keep me from it this time." Van Helsing stepped quickly around the old woman and stalked out the door before she could reply, Carl rushing to keep up. No one came after them.

"What was that all about, do you think?" Carl asked, warily casting an eye behind them as they headed back toward the inn.

"I wish I knew," Van Helsing said, idly glancing toward his burnt fingertips.

"And what did she mean by not human? I wonder if she was...you know…_mentally unbalanced_." Carl looked uncomfortable at accusing her of such, but appeared to be more worried than anything.

"Wouldn't surprise me. Besides, it's not the first time I've been called a monster."

--End Chapter 2---

A/N:: I know, odd place to end the chapter, but that's how it goes. Hope you enjoyed anyway!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **Van Helsing and Co. are property of Steven Sommers. Although I am plotting to abduct the big, black, beautiful werewolf…hehe…

Thanks for reviewing, guys!

Oh, if anybody knows where I can find a screen cap of the big black werewolf from the end, please let me know! I've spent hours searching the net, but I can't find one anywhere! Please?

Chapter 3

            When the building first came into sight Carl tried to turn right back around. Only Van Helsing's firm grip on both horse's reins kept their pace steady. Despite the fact that there really wasn't much left of the ruins, it still managed to inspire a sense of unease that set them both on edge and kept the birds silent. It was mostly just a few piles of old stones held upright by scant bits of remaining mortar. There looked to be the bottom of a winding staircase, but most of the rest had been so worn by time that it bore not even a passing resemblance to the daunting mansion it once was. The horses pawed at the ground nervously when they tied them to a young oak, but otherwise gave no argument.

            "Van Helsing…I know I don't have the most experience in these things…but something doesn't feel right about this place," Carl muttered, his eyes twitching left and right. Van Helsing cast his a sidelong smirk and proceeded toward the ruins, weapons still carefully sheathed.

            "You're right, Carl. There was something here, but it's here no longer." Van Helsing paused, nostrils flaring briefly. "And apparently it hasn't been here in while."

            "Oh. Well, that's all right then I suppose," Carl muttered, but hurried to keep up with the taller man.

            The ground was broadly covered with broken bits of stone, some larger slabs betraying where the ancient foundation once lay. Weeds and large shrubs grew in the soil too shallow for the larger trees, though they were brown and sickly looking. Van Helsing suddenly stopped, hands purposefully brushing the tall grass as he knelt toward the ground. "Carl, take a look at this."

            Carl shuffled over quickly, keeping his eye on a shadow in the far line of trees that he was positive was something nasty. "What..? Oh dear…I haven't seen one of these in a while!" Carl muttered, and all sense of fear was immediately overridden by curiosity. Laid out on the ground before Van Helsing's feet was a large chalk circle. A dark stain seemed to run around the perimeter as well, with large, thick drops speckled all around the edges. A small lock of brown hair lay in the center, accompanied by the burnt remains of some sort of plant.

            "It looks like we have our answer," Van Helsing muttered, and plucked the lock of hair from the ground and lifted it to his nose.

            "What is it?" Carl asked. He'd bent his face close to the ground, and was poking at the burnt plants as if to try and determine what they were. Van Helsing's eyes narrowed, and he bent closer to the ground. He opened his mouth briefly, and then closed it again, as if unsure if he should share his findings.

            "The blood here, and the hair are from the same person. A young woman. It seems to have been here for at most a few weeks," he said, and pointed a finger toward the darker stain surrounding the chalk circle. Carl eyed him oddly for a moment, but the greater curiosity was apparently their discovery for the moment.

            "Well, that seems to fit with the requirements for a Summoning Circle. I'd bet my books that this is where the Gargoyle was brought forth. For a Gargoyle the summoner must use their own blood and a piece of themselves, in this case the hair, to bind the creature to their command. I bet the plants were brought from the place the beast was bound to. Normally these spells are cast at the place of binding, but in theory it's possible to do it elsewhere…"

            "Carl," Van Helsing interrupted.

            "Yes?"

            "Aside from the lesson in Dark Magick, just give me the facts, please."

            "Er…right. The young woman you ..ah…detected summoned the Gargoyle here, bound it to herself, and to an unknown location. She'll only return here if she decides to break the binding, which isn't likely. Because she's bound the creature someplace besides here, the magick will require that a piece of this place, probably a stone or something, be taken to the place of the actual binding."

            "Right. And this helps us how?"

            "I suppose if we find her rock and give it the old one-two, the creature will be forced to return here nightly. Or, it could just make it very very angry." Carl was tucking the burnt plants into a pocket while he spoke.

            "So, aside from knowing a young woman is our target, this doesn't help us at all." Van Helsing was already headed back toward the horses, dusting his fingers off on his coat.

            "Well…not really, no. But if I can figure out what these plants are, there's a slight possibility that I can figure out where she's bound the creature." Carl hurriedly mounted his horse seconds after Van Helsing, nearly sending himself over the side and face-first into the ground.

            "How slight?" Van Helsing asked, but sounded more bored than interested.

            "Er…miniscule. If these plants are scarce, I can find out where they grow from the locals. Otherwise they're probably common for at least a fifty mile radius, which doesn't help at all."

            Van Helsing growled briefly, eyes narrowed with frustration. He hated fumbling around with riddles and clues. He preferred to simply run down his prey quickly and efficiently, without all the detective work.

            "Van Helsing, did you just growl at me?" Carl asked suddenly, and Van Helsing whirled.

            "What?"

            "I asked, did you just growl at me?" Carl asked again, and his expression was somewhere between impatience and amusement.

            "Er…why would I do that?" Van Helsing replied lamely, though his cheeks were tinged with embarrassment.

            "Honestly, Van Helsing! I knew that cure of Dracula's left you with a few side-effects, but growling?" Carl rolled his eyes and looked mock offended, then turned and eyed him warily. "You're not going to start howling, are you? Because I'm not above gagging you in your sleep if you do."

            On the one hand, Van Helsing was vastly grateful that Carl seemed to have blamed his odd behavior on 'side effects' of Dracula's serum. But on the other hand, he couldn't honestly give an answer to Carl's question, so he did the only thing he could think of to get out of it.

He growled.

-----------

            From deep in the trees, a figure watched silently. He made no sound, and drew no breath, and was scarcely more than a shadow himself. For the first time in several hundred years, he gazed into the daylight without fear. The two figures he watched slowly mounted their horses, disappearing back down the trail on which they had come. The figure smiled to himself, and willed the formlessness of his body to follow, keeping deep to the shadows that hid him almost completely.

            When at first awareness had returned to him, he had been unsure what to do. He had no purpose, no companions, not even a body to speak of. He had no needs, and the only desire was one for an end to the loneliness. Daylight, something he hadn't seen without pain in too many years to remember, had been his first indulgence. To exist someplace besides the darkness had been…wondrous; a rebirth in its own right. And now he took every opportunity to surround himself by it. Watching people at the market, following merchants down dusty roads, even watching birds twirling in a sky absent of stars and moonlight had been his hobby for weeks. But it grew dull quickly, despite the odd…pleasure it gave him. Then he had seen those he recognized…Van Helsing, and the annoying friar. They had quickly become his new hobby, and he'd followed them all the way from Valerious Mansion. Carl he had come to appreciate on some level. The man was no common friar, and he admitted to himself that he had dismissed him far too quickly. Van Helsing had truly sparked his curiosity, especially over the past few days. Something was going on with the Hunter, and he was determined to figure it out, though he certainly had his suspicions. So far he had only been following the pair at a distance, but perhaps it was time to get a bit closer.

            Smiling formlessly, he drifted off through the trees, bleeding from shadow to shadow like fresh spilled ink. It was time to arrange a reunion.

----------------------

            "Still alive, then?" The Inkeeper asked as they stepped through the door. He was busy polishing the front desk, which, despite the picture, remained the only clean thing in the establishment.

            "And planning to stay that way, thank you," Carl said, chin thrust stubbornly upward.

            "I wish you luck then." The Innkeeper turned away, obviously dismissing their presence. They had spent the remainder of the day scouting the area for footprints or any sign of where the young lady behind the Gargoyle had gone. Carl thought that Van Helsing was trying to sniff her out, literally, but the Hunter had obviously wanted to hide the fact so Carl had said nothing. Apparently he hadn't found anything, for they'd been forced to return none the wiser.

They were almost to the hallway when another voice stopped them. It was light and musical, with just a hint of an Italian accent, and Carl could have sworn it was familiar, but the face that greeted them wasn't. Sitting in a corner, a large journal opened in his lap, was a man who couldn't have been older than eighteen. He had shaggy blond hair and hazel eyes, and a smile that seemed to only pull up half of his mouth.

"The Great Van Helsing and Carl the Friar, I presume?" the boy asked, not bothering to rise. His tone was almost playful, and not the least bit malicious, so Van Helsing turned and nodded.

"We are. And who are you?" he asked, and the boy's smile widened.

"I'm Ricardo. I was hoping I could speak to the two of you," he said, and Van Helsing narrowed his eyes.

"About?" he asked impatiently.

"The Gargoyle, of course. What else could there be to talk about in a town this small? I'm a bit of scholar, and I was just passing through when I heard that you were here hunting a Gargoyle. I found I couldn't pass up the opportunity," he said, motioning to a large satchel lying bonelessly at his side, the top sprouting rolls of parchment and books he hadn't quite managed to squeeze all the way inside.

"Perhaps another time," Van Helsing said, and grabbed the hood of Carl's robes and began dragging him toward the hallway before he could protest.

Once they were safely locked inside their room, Carl sat back on his cot with a huff. "What did you do that for? I think it would be highly educational to speak to a fellow scholar…" Carl muttered, crossing his arms bitterly.

"He was lying about something," Van Helsing said, digging through one of the large, brown bags that held their weapons. After a moment, he pulled a hand back with a yelp and stuck the edge of one finger in his mouth briefly before sticking the other hand in the bag.

"About what?" Carl asked, "And what are you looking for?"

"I don't know about what. Something. And I'm looking for that large bronze cross. We need to mount it in the window in case the Gargoyle decides to stop by."

"You lost that one in Amsterdam three months ago," Carl said, and pulled a large silver and gold cross out of the second bag by the bed. Polishing it briefly with one sleeve, he lodged it between the bedframe and the windowsill. "There. I always liked the silver one better anyway," he said, and looked up to see Van Helsing staring at it pensively. Carl sighed and crossed his arms, shaking his head as if he were dealing with a petulant child.

"If you want to go after it that badly, what are you standing around here for? I've got to find out what these plants are, and I'll not have you pacing about." Carl promptly turned his back and began rummaging through the bags, tossing a few books out on the floor behind him with less respect than Van Helsing would have expected.

"Very well, if you insist," Van Helsing said, and paused only long enough to snatch the crossbow from the floor before heading toward the exit.

Ricardo the Scholar was gone when he left the Inn, but Van Helsing assumed he had retired to his own room with the setting of the sun. After all, The Innkeeper couldn't be bothered to keep any candles burning anywhere he didn't have to. Outside, the sky above the trees had turned the odd purple color that made the sky seem like something unnatural. A few stars were blinking into existence, and the dim yellow light of distant lanterns set in windows could be seen through the black expanse of trees. Van Helsing set off in a different direction than he had the previous night, ears straining for any sound out of the ordinary.

He was disappointed that he heard nothing, and could not keep his mind from drifting no matter how hard he tried to stay focused. Scents and sounds seemed suddenly stronger, flooding in so intensely for a moment that he stumbled and clutched his head, waiting for them to die down again.

"Is something wrong, Gabriel?"

Van Helsing spun around so quickly that it took his senses a moment to catch up. Even when they had, he could only stare. He blinked, struggling to clear his eyes of the vision that was surely a figment of his imagination. Maybe all that had been happening were just side-effects, and this was just another one….

The figure before him was standing calmly, dressed all in black from head to toe. The clothing was slightly old fashioned, but still unerringly elegant. The knee-high, polished leather boots shone immaculately, and Van Helsing found his eyes seeking out every last detail as if to assure himself that he wasn't going insane after all. Two tiny, gold loop earrings pierced his ears, matched by the gold thread that edged his jacket. And the smirk…barely there, but plainly visible in the creases of his dark eyes and curve of his mouth.

"Dracula…" Gabriel said, and drew in a slow breath as he quickly began to throw off the shock. The man in question didn't so much as twitch, but stood there patiently. It was then that Van Helsing noticed something different about the vampire. His skin, while it had always been pale, was now just barely translucent. It wasn't noticeable at first, but Van Helsing's sharp eyes could detect the faint glow of a distant lantern through the black of his clothing, and just see the dark shadow of a tree through the planes of his face.

Count Vladislaus Dracula was a ghost.

"Surprise, surprise," Dracula said, and the smirk widened just a bit. "Seems we both have our secrets, don't we Gabriel." Dracula shifted his gaze, and Van Helsing turned his head just enough to catch sight of the moon rising over the distant horizon. Tomorrow night it would be full.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Gabriel said through clenched teeth, and narrowed his eyes at the ghost. "I thought you had returned to Hell."

"To be honest, I thought that was my fate as well. Apparently I neglected to realize that by signing a contract to ensure my immortality, I also denied myself entrance to the afterworld." Dracula sighed and absently tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. Van Helsing narrowed his eyes, and crossed his arms. The familiarity in Dracula's speech was disturbing, but it was also stirring up memories that sat just beyond Van Helsing's grasp.

"And why are you here?" Van Helsing asked, and surprised himself with the low, rumbling growl that rode under his words.

"I was bored, and even you must admit that life is always interesting around you, Gabriel." Dracula smiled, sharp teeth shining white in the growing moonlight. Then the smile faded slightly, and his expression turned serious. "I did not lie to you before, Gabriel. We were friends once, brothers in arms. We fought many battles beneath my father's banner."

"I think death has addled your head, Dracula."

"Perhaps. I find my perspectives shifting, now that my only purpose has been reduced to merely existing." Dracula's eyes suddenly narrowed, and he lowered his head slightly so that his eyes fell into shadow. "Don't think that you'll be able to be rid of me so easily this time, Gabriel."

"Oh, don't worry. My mission was to kill you, and you _are_ dead. Excorcising ghosts is not in my job description. Now, if you don't mind, I have a Gargoyle to kill." Dracula frowned as Gabriel began to turn away, and stepped quickly back into his line of sight.

"I can see you don't believe me. I expected that. Allow me to give you a warning as a sign of good faith," he began. "It was after the twelfth stroke of midnight, Gabriel." Dracula reached out one hand, and Van Helsing suddenly felt a chill on his skin where Velkan had bitten him. And then, Dracula was gone.

Van Helsing whirled quickly, but the vampire had disappeared entirely from sight, and even he couldn't sense a ghost. "Damnit," he muttered, and pressed one hand to the lingering cold on his shoulder. Then he sucked in a quick breath, eyes flying wide. Dracula had exactly quoted himself in the strange dream he had the night before. Anger suddenly flared brightly in his chest, and with eyes burning, he whirled and smashed a fist into a tree with a throaty roar. The tree was splintered nearly all the way through, and leaning dangerously backward. Van Helsing dropped shakily to the ground, panting past the pain curling dangerously through his chest, shifting things just beneath the surface. "No," he hissed passed clenched teeth, but he couldn't deny it any longer. He could feel the wolf surging just beneath his skin, like something monsterish preparing to claw its way out of its mother's womb. Despite the short reprieve he'd been granted, he was still a werewolf. And tomorrow night, there would be no Anna or mysterious 'cure' to save him.


End file.
